Making Friends Out of Nothing at All
by darnedchild
Summary: A short fic for Molly Hooper Appreciation Week - Day Five (Best Friends Forever) (I asked myself how did Molly and John become good enough friends for him to invite her to Baker Street for Christmas and even his wedding? Of course there has to be a bit of Sherlolly involved.)


**Making Friends Out of Nothing at All**

She stared at the unappetizing assortment of junk food and suspiciously preserved sandwiches in the canteen vending machine and contemplated the egg salad or the ham and swiss.

With a resigned sigh Molly began to dig through her pockets for change.

"Let me get that."

She couldn't help the startled yelp that escaped when John spoke from just behind her.

"Sorry, sorry." He held up his hands as Molly whirled around.

"No, it's all right. I've just been a bit you know—lately—what with everything." Everything being the man she'd dated turning out to be a criminal mastermind who was only using her to get closer to Sherlock Holmes. Things like that tended to make a girl a bit jumpy.

"Understood." They both turned to stare at the vending machine. "So, what will it be? Crisps or . . . Good God, what is that supposed to be?" he asked.

Molly laughed. "The label says egg salad, but I have my doubts."

"Crisps it is then." He stepped forward and began to feed coins into the machine. As the packet of crisps dropped John spoke again. "It's not your fault, you know. He fooled a lot of people." He held the crisps out to her. "He fooled Sherlock."

She took the offering with a weak smile. "Thanks." Molly remembered the way John had tried to rein Sherlock in after he'd met Jim and started in with his rapid fire deductions. John hadn't been able to stop Sherlock, but she appreciated that he'd made the effort. "For everything."

இڿڰۣ-ڰۣ—

Molly pulled her bags out of the cab and stopped to look up at the windows of 221B Baker Street. John had invited her over for a little holiday get together; but Sherlock hadn't mentioned it to her at all.

Still, John had made it clear that he wanted her to stop by when they'd had coffee the week before. Sherlock had been absorbed in a chemical analysis in the lab and hadn't even noticed that the two of them had wandered off for a bit of a break.

They did that quite often of late, her and John. Coffee here, a snack break there, every time Sherlock insisted he needed an assistant or two when all he really wanted was someone to listen and praise him when he paused for breath. John said that sometimes Sherlock would even keep talking when they were gone.

It was nice to have someone to talk to, someone who understood the intricacies of dealing with a personality like Sherlock's.

She really did want to meet the girlfriend John had been going on about.

With a deep breath, Molly made her way upstairs.

Mrs Hudson, Greg, and John all seemed happy to see her; but Sherlock was clearly in a mood.

God, the stomach turning embarrassment she'd felt as Sherlock deduced her in front of their mutual friends nearly made her sick. The look on John's face when Sherlock apologized would stay in her mind for ages. She couldn't really stay after all that, could she? As soon as she could make her excuses she had her coat on and headed for the door.

She paused at the bottom of the stairs when John called her name. "Molly. He's-There's a case. And he's, well, he's-"

"It's fine." She pulled her coat tighter around herself, preparing to step out into the cold. "Really."

"He didn't mean it," John tried to defend his friend. Loyal as always. It was an admirable trait to have in a friend. Heaven knew she'd been unreasonably loyal and forgiving to a man that routinely treated her like a second thought simply because she fancied herself in love.

"We both know at the time he meant every word." John was considerate enough not to try to deny it. "He did apologize, though. That's a nice change." Molly bit her lip and wondered if she was saying that for her own sake or for John's.

"You never know, I may teach him to act like a real boy yet," he deadpanned.

Despite the crushing disappointment that her evening had turned into, she still burst into laughter. "You are horrible. Both of you are horrible."

"Yeah," he agreed. "But you like us anyway."

இڿڰۣ-ڰۣ—

It was the end of January before she saw John again. He walked into the lab with two cups of coffee and set one down in front of her. They shared an amused look as the consulting detective huffed in annoyance.

Molly said the first thing that popped into her head. "I meant to tell you how sorry I was that I didn't get a chance to really talk to your girlfriend at Christmas. She seems lovely." From the corner of her eye she could see Sherlock's fingers freeze on his microscope and his shoulders tense. Apparently she'd put her foot in it. Again.

John bit at the inside of his cheek and looked as if he were trying to find just the right words to say . . . something.

"They broke up," Sherlock offered without lifting his face from the scope. To anyone unfamiliar with his habits in the lab it might have looked as if he were still working, but Molly knew better.

She turned to John, her expression full of sympathy. "I'm sorry. I didn't know."

He shrugged. "Things just didn't work out. You know how it is. Sometimes there's just things you can't work through."

"He's talking about me. She didn't like me." Now Sherlock sat back on his stool and deigned to give them both his full attention.

"Yeah, well, I was trying to be tactful, mate. And in her defence, that is a very common reaction when people spend any length of time around you."

Molly gasped, "John!"

Sherlock waved his hand dismissively. "He's not wrong."

"Sherlock!"

The two men grinned at each other.

She let them have their strange male bonding moment, then reached over to touch the back of John's hand. "I really am sorry. You're a lovely, funny guy. I'm sure you'll find someone new. Someone who won't mind you running off with Sherlock on a moment's notice, or finding his experiments in the fridge next to the milk in the morning. Perhaps someone you have in common, who knows what he's like?" She gave him what she hoped was a reassuring smile.

John flipped his hand over to grasp her fingers, his head tilted to the side as he considered her words. "You're right. I'm sure there's at least one lady out there who would be willing to put up with all of Sherlock's quirks. I just need to convince her to give me a chance."

Just then something shattered all over the tile floor near Sherlock's stool. Molly jumped up on instinct, her mind already running through all the materials he'd been using that morning in an effort to identify any safety procedures that would be necessary.

"It's fine, Molly, just an empty petri dish. I didn't realize how close it was to the side of the table, must have bumped it with my elbow." Sherlock nodded his head toward the supply cupboard. "Could you fetch the broom and dustpan for me?"

By the time she came back both men were standing over the mess; Sherlock frowning and John grinning like a fool.

இڿڰۣ-ڰۣ—

The day Sherlock jumped changed everything.

She'd had a night to prepare for it, but it still hit her hard.

Nearly overwhelming fear for Sherlock, whether his plan worked or not.

Fear for John.

At least she would have the gift of knowing that their mutual friend was out there, somewhere, still alive. But John wouldn't even have that small comfort.

They didn't talk at the funeral; both too upset for their own reasons.

It was the last time she saw him for two years.

Molly missed him almost as much as she missed Sherlock.

இڿڰۣ-ڰۣ—

Finding Sherlock waiting in the Barts' locker room was like getting a piece of her heart back. After the first five minutes that were full of gleeful almost hugs, joyously jumbled words that tumbled free and unchecked from her lips, and long moments of just looking at the man she'd missed for so long, Molly's thoughts jumped to John.

"Have you seen him? Does he know that you're home?"

Sherlock's pleased expression disappeared. "He knows. He's, uh, rather upset with me." He winced and gingerly prodded the cut on his lip.

"Should I call him? Perhaps I can talk him into giving you a chance to explain?"

"That would probably be a mistake at this point. I've already told him everything he was willing to hear."

Molly could tell he was trying to hide how much John's anger hurt him. She hated seeing him like this. Surely there was something she could do to help. Sherlock must have seen something in her expression because he shook his head. "Don't, Molly. He knows that you had a part in my disappearance. Not the details, but enough to feel-"

"Betrayed. By both of us." She hadn't expected that. Lord knows she should have. They'd barely kept in touch over the last two years, just a few texts and a Christmas card addressed in a feminine hand that was signed 'Seasons Greetings from John and Mary'. Somehow she had managed to convince herself that everything would go back to normal when Sherlock returned, back to the way things were before.

Stupid of her, really.

"I'm afraid so. I'm sorry. I know you two had been close before. I had thought, perhaps, that in my absence . . . Well, it doesn't really matter what I thought. Just promise me that you'll give him time to cool off before you try to fix things." He took hold of both of her shoulders and bent his knees just enough so that he could look her straight in the eye. "I know what you can do in the meantime. Something that would mean a great deal to me. There are a few more people I need to talk to before word of my resurrection becomes widespread, but after that . . . Come to Baker Street. I'll send you a text when I'm available, shall I?"

It had been so long since she'd looked into those beautiful pale eyes that she'd managed to somehow forget how he used to make her heart race with only the smallest effort.

Still made her heart race.

Molly's eyes fluttered closed as she thought about the ring safely nestled in her locker and the man who had given it to her.

இڿڰۣ-ڰۣ—

Sherlock had been correct. Giving John time to come around on his own had been the right thing to do. He'd shown up at her flat out of the blue, stared at her for a long moment, then pulled her into his arms for a long, tight hug.

God, how she had missed having her friend around. She hadn't realized just how much until he was back in her life.

She'd eagerly accepted the invitation to Baker Street to celebrate John's engagement and Sherlock's return to the public eye.

Introducing Tom to her friends had been lovely. John seemed to like him, judging by the way he couldn't stop smiling every time he'd look at her fiancé. And Sherlock, well, he didn't say much of anything to or about Tom, which had to be a good sign. Didn't it?

Sherlock and John popped in to Barts quite often after that. It was a bit like a kid let loose in a toy shop and his indulgent brother standing by to make sure he didn't break anything too expensive. Molly found it delightful.

She and Tom had even met John and Mary for dinner one night, a month or so before the wedding. Sherlock had been invited, too, but he'd made up something as an excuse and no one had bothered to press him about it. It was a lovely meal. Molly and John spent most of it sharing amusing anecdotes about their Sherlock. Mary had laughed quite a bit, and Tom smiled a lot (although not as much as Molly might have hoped).

The wedding was beautiful, as expected. Sherlock's speech was lovely, and she could see how touched John was. How very deeply the two men cared for each other.

Thankfully John and Mary were there to lend a pair of strong shoulders to cry on when her own engagement ended. It made the breakup easier to handle, knowing neither of them seemed to blame her for Tom's insurmountable insecurities.

The couple bringing Sherlock and his entourage to Barts had been a bit of a shock, and she'd let her anger get the best of her when she'd slapped Sherlock silly. Something she'd ended up tearfully apologizing for at his hospital bedside less than a day later, not that he'd heard her. John had held her hand through her entire visit, both of them waiting and hoping that Sherlock would wake up.

In turn, she held John's hand and made him coffee several times over the next few months while he and Mary were on the outs. He never told her the real reason they'd split up, but Molly had made sure he knew that she would be there to listen if he ever wanted to talk. Thankfully, Sherlock was there to keep him stable. She'd even spent a few nights at Baker Street, dozing off on the couch while the two of them bickered over Cluedo or cases.

Sherlock had been the first through the door of the morgue after the Moriarty broadcast, the first to call her name and pull her tight to his chest once he was sure she was safe. But John had been right behind him, followed quickly by Mary (who Molly had been very happy to welcome back into the fold once she and John were a couple again).

And now, here they were over a year later, gathered together yet again to celebrate little Lizzy's first birthday. The candles had been blown out, the cake cut, and presents opened. Nothing left to do but enjoy the rest of the afternoon.

Molly stood in the open door to the Watson's back yard and watched Sherlock play with his goddaughter.

"I never would have thought I'd see Sherlock Holmes crawling across the lawn with a baby." John handed her a glass of wine and stood next to her. "What are they looking for, anyway?"

"Bees." She took a sip as Sherlock slowly drew Lizzy's attention to a flower. "You know, if you had suggested anything like that a few years ago, I would have insisted on checking you for a head injury."

Molly and John made eye contact and then both laughed at the ridiculous thought.

"You've been a good influence on him, John."

He nodded and continued to watch his friend and daughter. "So have you."

"No more than Mrs H or-or Greg, really." Molly shook her head. "He's opened up to the rest of us over the years because of his friendship with you."

John turned away from the yard and looked at her, a bemused smile on his lips. "All this time, and you still don't know, do you?"

Now he was making her nervous. "What?"

"Do you know why I never asked you out to dinner when we first became friends?"

The tension eased out of her shoulders and she laughed. "Because I'm not your type, obviously."

"Because Sherlock would have skinned me alive."

Molly laughed again, although there was much less humour in it this time. "That's—that's not true. Sherlock and I never . . . He's never been interested in me that way. We're just friends."

John nodded and took a pull from his bottle of beer. "And that is exactly what he'd have said if I'd asked him, but that doesn't change the fact that he warned me off when he thought I was going to make a move after that horrible Christmas with the Adler woman business."

"You were going to ask me out?" None of this made any sense.

"The thought had occurred to me, briefly. But Sherlock made it very clear that you were off limits."

A quick glance confirmed that Sherlock was still distracted by the baby, and in no danger of overhearing her conversation with John. "Why would he do something like that?"

"He said it was because he didn't want my rampant hormones ruining his access to Barts when things inevitably went south."

"Ah." Molly stared down into her wine and tried not to let her disappointment show. "That sounds exactly like something he would say."

"He was lying, Molly. I honestly doubt he even knew why. He certainly wasn't in a place to consider a real relationship with anyone, but he was awful territorial for someone who claimed you were only an acquaintance at the time."

She turned away from the yard and leaned her back against the wall near the door. "That was years ago, John. Why even bring it up now?"

He moved to step into her line of sight. "Because sometimes I catch him looking at you the same way I look at Mary. The same way he looked at you right before he deliberately threw that petri dish on the floor to get you out of the room so he could warn me off. The same way he watched you at our engagement party when you introduced us all to Tom." John took a step back and nodded toward the doorway next to her. "The same way he's looking at you right now."

Molly's cheeks burned in embarrassment at being caught out talking about Sherlock. It took her until John had taken his daughter and excused himself from the room before she could bring herself to look at the other man.

He was watching her intently.

There was a blade of grass caught in his dark curls, and she reached up to pull it free without thinking. Sherlock caught her wrist and held it for a moment, before bringing her hand down to lay flat against his chest over his pounding heart. "So now you know."

இڿڰۣ-ڰۣ—

Molly had imagined her wedding day ever since she was a little girl. She'd wanted a pretty dress with lace and tiny little pearls on the bodice. Bright wildflowers in vases all through the room, splashes of colour everywhere. Soft music would play as her father walked her down the aisle toward her future husband.

It was exactly as she'd pictured it, except for the man at her side as she made her way to the front of the small church.

"You look lovely," John whispered as they took slow, measured steps in time with the beautiful violin music. With small flourish John settled her hand in Sherlock's and then took his place by Sherlock's side as his Best Man.


End file.
